


honeysuckle

by leighleleigh



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Crimson Flower Route, Cunnilingus, F/M, Food Play, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 16:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21304790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighleleigh/pseuds/leighleleigh
Summary: Dorothea used to call Ferdinand a bee. She hadn't considered he might take it literally.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 6
Kudos: 138





	honeysuckle

“I know I used to call you names, Ferdie, but isn’t this taking things too literally?” 

Ferdinand laughs as Dorothea’s sneaks her foot out from where it’s wrapped up in his heavy traveling cloak to knead against his thigh. The nights in Aegir are becoming colder as winter approaches, the chill nipping at any exposed skin, and Dorothea’s penchant for wearing his clothes to bed has grown to include his cloaks. Ferdinand’s duties as Duke Aegir and Prime Minister pull him away to Enbarr often; if Dorothea takes comfort in his clothing when he’s away it is her own business. 

He shakes the jar of honey she’s teasing him about, the wooden dropper rolling along the edge. “I, ah … I heard about this … I thought you might enjoy it.” 

Dorothea sits up and pushes her hair behind her shoulders. Doing so parts the cloak wide enough for her bare skin to greet the cold air, gooseflesh spreading and breasts tightening. “Heard about it from where?” She flashes him a teasing smile. “I can’t imagine Ferdinand von Aegir discussing intimacy in mixed company.” 

Ferdinand flushes. “That is … It is simply talk I overheard.” 

Ah. If he doesn’t want to give up his source, that means he’s embarrassed by it. Dorothea tries to imagine the least likely person Ferdinand might have had such a conversation with. Hubert?  _ Caspar _ ? 

“Would you like to try it?” Is it still a redirect if it’s a genuine question? Dorothea will mull that over later. 

She pulls up her legs and bends them at the knee. “What are you going to do with it?” She has some ideas, but it’s just  _ fun  _ sometimes to see Ferdie squirm. 

“I…” Ferdinand looks down, stirring the dropper rather quickly. He says something under his breath, ears faintly red. 

She chuckles. “What was that?” 

“I would like to lick it off you,” Ferdinand says, a touch louder than necessary. “If you are so inclined,” he adds. 

Dorothea feels his words shiver down her spine. She leans forward slowly and presses a soft kiss to his mouth as she unlaces the cloak and lets it slide down to the bed. She lays down with the slightest arch to her back, a pose she knows makes the curves of her body look lovely in the hearthlight. “I’m inclined,” she says softly, watching Ferdinand through her lashes. 

Ferdinand stares with his mouth parted. His flush has spread from his ears to his neck, a sign not of embarrassment but of desire. He shifts along the bed, fingers tight around the jar, until he’s kneeling at the dip of her waist. He stirs the dropper a while longer, simply taking her in, before he says, “You are stunning, Dorothea.” 

It’s Dorothea’s turn to flush. She can flirt and tease with the best of them, but Ferdinand’s sincerity has always gotten under her skin. At school, she thought it had been feigned, a cobbled-together façade he thought all nobles were required to cultivate. Now, she knows it’s just  _ him _ . 

Ferdinand leans down, kissing Dorothea softly on the lips. She feels the first drop of something warm and thick at her collar as his tongue swipes across the seam of her mouth. It pools there for a moment before steadily sliding up toward her neck, slower than water. Ferdinand pulls away from her mouth and ducks his head before the honey can drip off her skin to her hair. He licks it up delicately, leaving a wet trail in his wake that quickly cools on her skin. 

“Good?” Ferdinand asks softly. 

Dorothea hums, closing her eyes and sinking into the comfort of the plush mattress. Dorothea has never thought of herself as a selfish lover, but Ferdinand likes to do so much of the work that he often leaves Dorothea with nothing to do but lie there. She’s come to enjoy that more than she cares to admit. 

She sighs as warm honey drips down her chest. The wooden honey dropper traces over the swell of her breast, skirting first around her nipple before rolling across it. Ferdinand closes his mouth around her chest, following the trail of honey with his tongue. Once that’s clear, Ferdinand briefly suckles at her breast while he rolls the coated dropper over the other, ensuring both receive equal treatment. 

She sighs Ferdinand’s name as he kisses across the valley of skin to her other breast. She runs a hand through his long hair -- she swears one day she’ll learn how he keeps it so neat; it takes her hours to give her own the curl and wave she wants it to have -- and cups the back of his neck. Ferdinand hums at her simple show of affection and she feels it travel through her body to her toes. 

Dorothea loves a lot of things about Ferdinand, but this is what she loves the most: they are both people scarred by war, in need of kindness. Ferdinand is so,  _ so  _ kind to her, gentle with her. He treats her like something soft and delicate despite knowing what she’s capable of, despite the things he’s seen her do in Edelgard’s name, despite the things  _ he’s  _ done in Edelgard’s name. They’re people damaged by war, but they’re damaged together. 

Dorothea takes a steadying breath as Ferdinand pulls away. She glances down as Ferdinand reclaims the jar from where he’s set it aside. Her breasts are rosy in the low firelight, nipples perked and skin shining from saliva. She watches as Ferdinand swirls the dropper again, lifting it and allowing the excess to fall back into the jar. She has to admit there’s something oddly sensual about the slow fall of honey, the golden sheen of it as it drizzles from the dropper held aloft by Ferdinand’s long fingers. 

Her eyes flutter as Ferdinand drops a new trail of honey from the valley of her breasts down the soft slope of her body, letting it pool just above her mons. Dorothea finds herself under a burning gaze as Ferdinand meets her eyes. People say Ferdie’s eyes are the same red-orange of his hair, but Dorothea thinks in moments like these they look like molten gold. 

Ferdinand bends to trace the honey trail down her body. He takes his time, stopping to press sticky kisses down her ribs, to nose along her abdomen, to press a tickling kiss to her belly-button. 

He licks up the last of the honey from her now-heated skin, mouth brushing dangerously close to where she wants it to be. “Ferdie,” she sighs. 

She moans softly as Ferdinand slides his tongue up between her folds. He circles it around her clit before sucking at it lightly, fingers running up and down the curve of her thigh before vanishing. 

She gets lost in the moment for a while, shivering and moaning as Ferdinand focuses his razor-sharp dedication on her clit. He’s good at this — always has been. 

Dorothea hadn’t known what to expect the first time they laid together. Her perception of him in school had turned out to be wrong, but she was no stranger to tales from the opera house of nobles taking what they wanted from young trainees with no thought for the pleasure of their partner. Her courtship with Ferdinand had shown her that he could be selfless, be kind, be everything she’d once thought he wasn’t, but she had always been usure how that would translate to intimacy. 

As it turns out, it translated  _ very well _ . The first time they’d lain together, Ferdinand had gone to his knees and kissed her through her folds, using his fingers and tongue to bring her off until she was bent and clutching his hair with white knuckles as she caught her breath. They’d gone to bed together often after that, but each time went much the same. Ferdinand would use his mouth on her, and, on rare occasion, he’d ask her to use her hand on him. Ferdinand never pushed her to take the next step, to let him enter her properly. It was she who finally snapped and demanded he fuck her, though his spluttering and stammering had somewhat ruined the mood that particular evening. 

Dorothea is pulled from her thoughts by the solid press of something against her. It isn’t Ferdinand’s cock; he’s still sucking her clit and he’s impressively flexible but not  _ that _ flexible. It takes her a moment to realize it’s the honey dropper. Dorothea moans. Is it coated in honey? It must be, since Ferdinand had left it in the jar when he’d finished with her stomach.

“Ferdie,” she says, breathless. 

Ferdinand hums, sending vibrations through her core. Dorothea drops her head back as he pushes the dropper slowly inside. She can’t even feel the blunt ridges of it, as wet as she is, as wet as  _ it _ is. She feels the stretch, though. She feels it firm inside her when she clenches down. 

Dorothea rocks her hips, feeling the warmth of Ferdinand’s fingertips against her folds.  _ Oh _ . He’s pushed it all the way inside her on the first go. “Ferdie,” she says again, voice wavering. 

Ferdinand pulls his mouth away from her, replacing it with the fingers of his free hand. It’s less stimulating than the soft heat of his mouth, but his fingers are calloused from years of handling polearms in battle, which offers a change in sensation that turns Dorothea’s heavy breathing to a long groan. She feels the muted shift of the dropper inside her as Ferdinand turns it a few times before withdrawing it. 

Before Dorothea can complain about the loss, Ferdinand’s warm breath is against her. He uses both hands to part her folds, exposing her heated core to the chilled air. Dorothea shivers. Ferdinand holds himself still, watching her, and she feels a trickle of warm liquid — honey? her own slick? — leak out of her. Ferdinand dips his head and stops the trail with his mouth, tracing it back up until he can push his tongue inside her. 

Dorothea’s toes curl. She moans long and loud, grateful at least that Ferdinand dismisses the night guards from outside their bedroom door when he’s home in Aegir. He thrusts his tongue in and out of her as two fingers work at her clit, an assault on her senses from all fronts. If he slips his other hand down, he could slide a wet finger into the tight rim below. He won’t — that’s something they always discuss beforehand — but the thought that he  _ could  _ makes heat pool low in her stomach. 

Ferdinand eats her out like she’s a favored delicacy. This time, she supposes that’s not far from the truth, covered in honey as she is. She can feel her release building and building as his fingers flick and rub and lightly pinch her clit. His tongue works boldly inside her, filthy wet sounds filling the air and joining her soft  _ oh oh ohs _ . 

She rocks her hips shamelessly now, feeling herself tighten around Ferdinand’s tongue. She moans loud when he slips a finger in alongside it, louder still when he adds another. Her body tenses as pleasure continues to build and build, legs shaking and fingers scrambling for purchase in the slick sheets. 

Dorothea comes with a cry, a rush of warm liquid trickling out of her. Ferdinand is still pressed close to her quivering folds, easing his tongue and fingers out of her slowly. She catches a glimpse of his face between her thighs, flushed and shining from her slick, and feels a throb within herself at the sight. 

She lays in place on the bed for a few moments, catching her breath as her limbs become loose and heavy. She realizes slowly that there’s a large wet patch beneath her, either from her own slick, the honey, or both, but she can’t be bothered to move. 

She hears a low groan and parts her knees to watch as Ferdinand touches himself. He’s brought himself up to his knees, one hand resting atop Dorothea’s wet mound as the other moves up and down his cock hurriedly. If Dorothea had any energy she would happily slide down the bed and help, but all she can do is hold herself up and suck in air. 

It doesn’t take long for Ferdinand to come. His self-control always frays after he’s had a taste of her. He lasts longer when he’s inside her than when he’s used his mouth on her, but Dorothea is content to explore that another time. He groans as he spills over his fist, some of the warm spurts painting Dorothea’s belly and thighs. 

They collapse and curl together on a dry side of the bed, breathing each other in and calming their racing hearts. 

Dorothea laughs quietly, the first to collect herself, but only manages to say, “My, my…” 

Ferdinand sighs into her hair. “I hope that was satisfactory, my lady.” 

_ My lady _ . Dorothea would pinch him for the nickname if she wasn’t so taken with it. “Of course it was,” she says. “It always is. You’re  _ quite  _ good to me, Ferdie.” 

Ferdinand chuckles, but Dorothea can feel his face burn against her. Embarrassed? Happy? Both. Ferdie likes to give sincere compliments, but he’s still so unused to accepting them. He finally replies, voice a soft breath against her hair, “Only the best for a queen.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i'm here to say if i stan one other ship besides dimiclaud it's ferdithea. doronand? araegir?  
anyway, here's ferdinand and dorothea being soft before marriage, which i only mention because if they were married ferdinand would call her his wife in an awed tone 24/7. 
> 
> title from the [ever beautiful .hack score](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXh3pjUazP8)


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